To Chase a Hart
by Acqua Sole
Summary: Faced with a daunting task, Robin must navigate a treacherous maze of political intrigues and cloak-and-dagger schemes to save her kingdom - that is, if her romantic mishaps don't catch up to her first! An FE13 adaptation of Twelfth Night.
1. A Will and a Way

The cover art for this story is of the work "The Wood" by Naomi Chen. You can check out her fantastically haunting artwork at her website, naomichenart dot com.

The betas for this first chapter were the amazing kingdomfantasies and varietyshow; I honestly couldn't have done it without them and I'm so glad they decided to give this story a chance! You can read their fics on ffnet and AO3, respectively.

* * *

Robin woke to the sensation of cold salty water rushing in to fill her mouth and nose. Choking and spluttering, she lifted herself from her previously prone position in a panic, the seawater stinging her eyes and dripping down her chin.

"Daraen!"

Staggering to her feet, she hissed when her bruised knees and aching sides protested at her abrupt movements. Robin's head whipped wildly to the side, the wet hood of her coat hindering her sight greatly. She ripped it off angrily and rubbed at her irritated eyes, but was startled to see her fingers were bloody and covered in small red cuts.

"Daraen!"

Spitting out the water that sluiced down her face and into her mouth, her dark brown eyes scanned the rocky grey beach for anything, _anything_ that would've indicated the presence of human life. Debris littered the rocks; chunks of gaily-painted wood, a long strip of torn canvas hanging limply over a stand of boulders, and _oh Gods there were two bodies lying next to her. _

Resisting the urge to retch, she breathed in heavily through her nose and counted to ten slowly. It was a simple exercise that helped to ease her in stressful situations.

_Focus Robin. Focus. Check them to see if they're truly gone. If not, see what you can do to get them to respond. _She expelled a trembling breath through chilled, clammy lips. _Focus…_

She knelt down gingerly on the board the motionless sailors rested upon, its damaged wooden surface creaking at the increase in weight. Turning the man closest to her on his back, she noted sadly that their crash-landing on the beach had dealt him a serious blow. His nose had been crushed into his face and his teeth broken, and a rusty frothy mess was all that remained of his jawline. Though she knew that the man no longer drew breath, she still pressed her rapidly numbing fingers into his neck to check for a pulse. Once finished with her macabre examination, she moved to his companion. Though his face was not as in a terrible condition as the first seaman's, Robin still registered a certain degree of harm; his iris was scratched and bleeding into the surrounding sclera and a jagged piece of lumber protruded from his sunken sternum. She had no idea if they had drowned or if the rough entry to shore was responsible for their deaths, but she prayed it wasn't the latter.

Brushing her hand over her chest, she noticed that a thick length of rope was tied snugly around her hips…as well as the men's. With a start, she allowed the memory to flow back into her mind, grimacing at the mild migraine that soon followed after.

_The captain…he told us to tie ourselves to each other so we wouldn't lose one another. _Another grimace. _It might not have been the best idea, but – _

Speaking of the captain, Robin had no clue if there were others stranded on the coast with her and her downed comrades. Worse still was that she did not know of Daraens' whereabouts and welfare. Was he injured? Did he leave to call for help? Dread gripped her heart as the questions kept piling up in the back of her mind and she realised the terrifying extent of her ignorance. Her kneecaps popped painfully as she stood to take another look around.

The beach itself was an unfamiliar, dreary territory. Instead of the warm sandy shores she knew and loved back home, cold and unforgiving rocks stretched out as far as her eyes could see. Ragged cliffs rose up ominously behind her with a smattering of great black boulders and hidden tide pools nestled at their base. A freezing tide the colour of charcoal churned sharply at her feet, and the watery grey light of early dawn added to the overall gloomy scene.

Robin decided against staying in her current position. If the rest of the crew – and Daraen – were close by, she'd do good to seek them out. At the very least, she would be able to scout around for possible supplies, a place to seek shelter should the weather worsen, and – though she loathed considering the possibility – any more bodies that would need to be towed away from the powerful currents.

Her hands and face were thoroughly numbed by the bitter gusts that blew against her. Her large coat being soaked down to its inner threads didn't do her any favours either, weighing her down terribly and proving to be a most cumbersome garment. Robin huffed weakly on her rapidly blueing palms and kept walking.

_Better a wet robe than nothing at all_, she thought miserably.

Trudging forward through the desolate landscape proved to be a wretched experience. No sound but the incessant beating of waves accompanied her, not even the cries of seabirds, and constant worries of maimed sailors and the missing Daraen left a sour taste in her mouth and a bad ache in her breast.

Lost in her thoughts, she had tripped several times on the treacherous rocks. One particularly well-hidden pebble had sent her sprawling face first into the ground, and it would have been really funny had she not been so absorbed in her distress and had pain not burst against her cheekbone.

_Crying won't make you feel any better, pathetic girl. _

She wiped her throbbing cheek and moved on.

It seemed that an eternity had passed before she thought she could make out the sound of…a human voice?

A desperate hope bloomed within her. Whirling around to find the source of the unexpected, _wonderful_, noise, her elation grew when she realised it was someone calling her name.

"I'm here! I'm here! Oh Gods, I'm so glad to see you're all right –"

It died just as quickly when Robin saw the man's craggy face and massive build lumbering towards where she stood. Her smile disappeared under a cloud of disappointment.

_It's not him. _

_It's not him…_

"Very pleased to see the Lady Robin is safe!" came the booming laugh. His boots pounded hard against the surf and she noticed with a dull pang that he too had some rope fitted around his sides.

"Thought perhaps lost you may have been! Beach is no good place to lose things," he panted as he clumsily slid to a stop right in front of her. His large grin faded when he noticed her crestfallen expression and his bushy brows knitted together in concern.

"Alright everything is…?"

Robin looked up right into his eyes and fought to keep her words from quavering.

"Where is my brother?"

* * *

The trek back to the bonfire the remnants of the crew had set up was spent in silence. Gregor usually wasn't one for being very chatty, or starting conversations for that matter, but he felt that the girl walking next to him would have perhaps needed a shoulder to lean on, someone to relay all her troubles to and be reassured.

She had rebuffed all his attempts without a single word, pulled her hood low over her face, and left it at that.

The terrain had smoothed out into gravel once they reached the improvised camp, the sun having started its slow climb some time before. Pale pinks, reds and oranges streaked the sky in an exquisite panoply of light, but they were too tired and worried to enjoy the sight. There was something odd about the place that kept nagging at him for some reason or another, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

Setting down the corpses each had lugged all the way to the roaring fire, Gregor turned his attentions to Robin, scrutinising the way her hidden visage affixed itself to the sad, broken heap that used to be their ship. Frowning, he placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Checked already. Brother is nowhere near."

Most of the morning was spent scavenging among the gutted carcass of their vessel. What was once an elegant cutter emblazoned in yellow and blue and sporting pristine white sails was now a skeletal pile of mangled wood and clumps of stringy seaweed. While Gregor knew that storms were an occupational hazard in his line of work, he couldn't help but grieve over the loss of his ship. Not only had he captained it for the past 15 years, he'd personally repaired it countless times over the years, taken it all over the world on long journeys … hell, he'd even gotten married on it.

Still, his attachment didn't cloud his judgement. It was clear as day that it was beyond salvageable. Most of the bilge had been torn off, and the mast was gone altogether. A loose plank had fallen from the ship's side and nearly gored Robin, but he'd managed to pull her towards him in the nick of time, and he kept close to her after that.

Even though it was clear she didn't want him to.

They recovered little from the wreck. They were grateful to have found coils of twine, a barrel of fresh water, and a few tattered blankets, which were distributed quickly amongst the five people around the fire.

The captain's quarters were spared somewhat from the damage, a discovery that prompted Gregor to mutter a quick thanks to Naga under his breath. They managed to save his ledgers and documents, a small coffer full of gold coins, his maps and navigational instruments, even his rather immodest set of knives and swords.

Robin wasn't as lucky as he. The few tomes and books they did rescue had been thoroughly soaked and were placed next to the dying fire to dry out. Other than that, a bronze sword and the clothes on her back, she had nothing.

Not even her brother.

By the time they were done the sun had reached its peak and blazed gloriously from its high perch. No one welcomed it though. A foul, tense mood had settled over the camp, their skins itchy from the sand and gravel that had wormed its way into their hair and clothes, their bodies injured and sore, and of low morale over the devastation the storm had caused.

Judging by the way Robin was kneading her thighs roughly, Gregor was more than sure that her migraine hadn't gone away either.

"Please don't worry, Lady Robin…"

Everyone turned to see the skinny sailor who'd spoken up, and he'd cringed at the attention now focused on him. The man who was busy repurposing one of the blankets into a sling for his fractured arm muttered quiet reassurances and tightened the cloth around his neck. The boy cleared his throat in a slight surge of confidence and continued.

"Right after we tied ourselves together…the storm got real bad. The boat sorta rolled on its side a little and the mast just done got snapped in half. You passed out at some point or another, and yer brother – I mean, Lord Daraen – lost his footing and started slidin' down th' bulwarks…you'da gone down with him had he not cut ya loose."

An uneasy hush fell over the group, interrupted sporadically by the tide loudly washing over pebbles. An anxious Gregor had noticed that Robin's breathing had slowed considerably and her fingers had gone eerily still.

Though she'd made it more that clear that she had no desire to initiate contact with any of the men (or let herself be coddled by them, for that matter), it still tugged on his heartstrings to see her wallowing in her quiet despair. Gregor wrapped a meaty arm around her slumped shoulders, his paternal side secretly satisfied by the fact that, while she tensed up, she didn't push him away either. He nodded encouragingly to the freckle-faced seaman.

"Go on."

The boy licked his cracked lips nervously. "Uhhm…I'm still a little fuzzy on the details but…I remember the captain here was busy pullin' ya to safety, and Jean here," the man who was fixing his bandages grunted in acknowledgement, "saved me from a falling crate. Would'a lost half my face if it weren't for him," he said fondly.

"Get to point, Marco. You saw what happen to Daraen or no?"

"Ah-ah, well, he drifted off a little too far for me t'see properly, but I think that he tied himself to th'mast once he hit the water."

"Perhaps he would not have even reached the water had someone bothered to, oh, I don't know, help him?" came the sour mutter from under the hood.

"Is enough for now," Gregor said hastily as he raised himself from the pile of driftwood that served as their bench. He squinted at Robin through the harsh glare of the burning sun, troubled over her spiteful tone. "Thank you for telling, Marco."

"Yes, thank you for telling us now, after all the effort expended to find a man who was never here in the first place," her voice was muffled but loud enough to perceive the venomous glaze that coated every word.

"Leave him alone!" Jean's indignant rasp cut clearly through the cacophony of a passing flock of gulls. "He's had a rough day and he's got a broken arm to deal with. He doesn't need some overbearing noblewoman breathing down his neck too."

Robin rose calmly from her seat and, hobbling ahead as best as she could on her wounded knees, planted herself firmly in front of Jean's face. Even with her expression veiled from sight, fury radiated off her very being so obviously that Jean took a step back to avoid being so close to her.

" 'Overbearing,' you say?" her intonation was dangerously soft and Gregor flinched, cursing Jean for just having to have the last word at all times. Though it was a bit heavy handed of Robin to direct her ire towards poor, skittish Marco, it was foolhardy of Jean to expect that it was fair to speak so harshly to a woman who was a lot more physically and emotionally hurt at the moment than she let on.

Even more foolish was for him to think that she would let him get away with it.

"I've had to deal with constant bellyaching from _all _of you," she swept her arm in a wide arc, "after we were blown off course in the _first_ storm and you all moaned about the delays and the rationings. That could have been avoided had anyone bothered to listen to the suggestion of my _dearest brother_ and I," there was a collective cringe, "to just head straight across the South Seas and leave us at Melilla. We could have taken the ferry back to the mainland from there, but the _general consensus_," she spat the word out, "was to skip ahead to Plegia since it would be so much more 'convenient.' "

She placed her palm flat on her chest. " 'No worry, Lady Robin,' " she spoke in a cruel, pompous facsimile of Gregor's broken accent. " 'Is too late in season to see storms any more. Get you back home in no time at all!' " Robin growled and started pacing around the beach madly, the volume of her ravings increasing with each step.

"I don't know what was worse, between taking care of incompetent, drunken fools of a crew who preferred to eat and drink through our supplies," everyone turned to stare at Gregor, "rather than do their bloody damn jobs and navigate, or Daraen and myself having to do those bloody damn jobs for you.

"Not only that, but the money we had on board to pay you all is gone, as are several important objects such as very high level tomes that cannot be replaced – "

_Unlike you helpless buffoons_, she nearly blurted out. The slip went unnoticed and she continued.

"The ship is beyond saving, my brother is gone, possibly even dead, and he has to be in Ylisse _now, _and the best you can manage to call me is '_overbearing_?' " She thundered in the terrified Jean's face.

Gregor punched his open palm with a giant fist in sudden realisation.

"Ah! Now Gregor knowing what is familiar about place!" He said with his characteristic cheerfulness.

"Already we are in Ylisse! In fact, Gregor born not three hours from here, and capital is only a few days' ride away! What luck!" he chuckled with glee.

Judging from the horror-struck expressions his comrades sent his way, and how Robin tore off her hood to shoot him the most murderously demoniacal glare he'd ever seen, it probably wasn't the best thing to have said at the time.

* * *

They had wrapped the bodies in the canvas they scrounged from the wreck and placed them on a makeshift pallet that they took turns to drag along the road. While it would have been preferable to simply cremate them or push them out to sea, their families would definitely not have appreciated that. Though it would mean going to extra lengths to preserve their corpses for the long journey home, they were honourable people and intended to keep their word to their wives and children.

They did, however, put torch to their vessel. Gregor wept openly and loudly as he'd watched his faithful companion of 15 years crumble into the wet gravel and wash out into the current, beautiful paintwork and sturdy foundations reduced to nothing but charred beams and smouldering ash.

Southtown was about an hour away from the beach on foot. A dingy, washed out inland port, its close proximity to Plegia had led to several attacks from the Plegian navy across the sound, determined to cut off Ylisse's access to the ocean, as well as from several roaming hordes of bandits that took advantage of the confusion surrounding the wartime years.

Consequently, the townsfolk were inhospitable and distrustful of strangers, and were positively apoplectic with rage once they spotted the distinctive eye shaped markings that ran down the length of Robin's baggy sleeves; the markings that revealed her to be part of the dark cult that held sway over Plegia, the much feared and reviled Grimleal. She was grateful her hood kept her face hidden.

Not that she could blame them much for it. Even with the kind of aid it was receiving, Southtown was in poor shape and struggling to make ends meet; the shops in the commercial district that once bustled with activity were now shuttered and dark, the quaint town square pockmarked from mortar blasts, and the residents scrubbing hard at the sooty doors of their once beautiful church.

That's why, with narrowed eyes and much grumbling, they didn't protest when Gregor produced the documents saved from the ship that allowed them free passage through the country as part of the Plegian mission in Ylisse…as well as a generous heap of the gold he had on himself, coupled with an easy going grin and a soft _please show us to the nearest inn_.

She was surprised at how fluently he spoke in the local language. Then again, he did say he was born not too far away from here.

Lost in her thoughts as she gazed out the cracked window out at the river that snaked under the stone bridges outside, she jumped in surprise when the door groaned vociferously. Gregor stepped in with an apologetic smile and small parcels wrapped in crinkly brown parchment cradled in his hands.

"You could've just spoken to me in your native tongue you know. I'm fluent, and it would have saved you a lot of trouble," Robin said.

"Nay, is not much of problem," he replied kindly. "Is needing to practice Plegian languages, as captains must know a lot of them anyways.

"Anywho, off to bath you are. Wounds need tending to very urgently and in need of relaxation you are," Gregor said as he strode over to Robin and scooped her up in his bearish arms along with the packages. He then proceeded to the bathroom door and unlatched it with a flourish.

Robin squirmed in discomfort at his sudden boldness. "Put me down _now_ Gregor."

He answered with a chuckle. "And risk Lady Robin falling to floor? No no. I have seen you in much pain today and more of standing around will not be good. Lady Robin should let herself be treated."

Though she hated to acknowledge it, he was right. Walking for an hour on her bruised knees had left her painfully exhausted and her ribs positively ached with each breath she took. Not counting the blow she suffered to her face, without a mirror she was unsure of the extent of the damage she'd received on the beach.

"It's not decent…" she trailed off lamely.

The chuckle turned into a short bark of laughter. "Fret not! I am not lustful man with bad thoughts. Am happily married man with daughter your age!"

Pushing open the door with his hips, he padded in to the surprisingly well-furnished room and set Robin down gently next to the old claw-toed bathtub. While he busied himself with lighting the little oil lamp sitting on the mouldy table, Robin faced the grimy, full-length mirror with a quiet gasp.

The deep cut on her cheek had dried into a crusty brown scab that sat just below her eye like an accidental glob of paint on a canvas. Below it, her jaw had purpled and swelled impressively with a multitude of ugly bruises. There was a long gash across the bridge of her nose.

Panic spreading across her veins with each second, she weakly shucked off her bulky robe and saw that her arms were also painted by an expanse of reds, blues and violets. While her gloves couldn't conceal the cuts on her fingers, she was shocked to gaze upon raw skinned patches of flesh on the backs of her hands.

"Aha!" came the delighted whoop from Gregor as his fiddling with the taps successfully drew water into the chipped basin. "Not hot, but is something at least!" His jolly demeanour vanished when he took note of Robin's trembling body.

His eyes softened. "Help needed with the rest of the clothing?" he asked quietly.

"Please turn around," was her simple request. Complying, he preoccupied himself with the tub once more as she tried to remove her inner jacket and top, but found that her joints suddenly seized up and refused to obey her. When she bent down to try and give her boots a go, the same occurred with her lower back, and she straightened herself with a wince.

"I need some help, actually," Robin's whisper was tinged with shame. She dared not look as Gregor paced over to her and tugged off her clothes gently, and her ears burned when she heard his upset murmuring.

"Poor you. Is in very bad shape," he said in a hushed tone. He did quick work of her trousers and belts, and by the time he slid her boots off her feet Robin thought she would die of embarrassment.

He hissed at the sight of her crushed and bloodied toes. Hooking his biceps under her thighs, Gregor lowered her smoothly into the rust flecked water and pulled a stool under him. He reached for one of the packages lying on the table and loosened the cord wrapping it closed to reveal a bar of lye soap and the familiar blue sheen of several bottled Elixirs.

"Lucky you have not seen your back," he tried to joke as he emptied out the contents of one of the vials into the tub. The water fizzed and bubbled fiercely as the magic tonic started working to repair the broken skin and sore bones, and Robin exhaled faintly as a wonderful heat seeped into her overtaxed limbs. The small bar of lye was quickly dissolved into sudsy bubbles as Gregor washed her gritty, blood – crusted hair.

Pouring more of the insipid liquid into a washcloth and scrubbing carefully at her back, he was taken aback when he heard muted sniffles coming from Robin. Perturbed, he shifted on his perch to get a better look at her face. "Something is hurting you?" his query was placid and tender and had such a paternal quality to it that Robin couldn't help but try to stifle another sob.

"Why – why are you doing all of this for me? You spent all that money on that expensive m – medicine and this room and you're washing me and…why? I haven't been very n – nice, " she seemed to struggle with the word, "to you or the men for the weeks we've been together and yet you never seemed to take offense with me … why?" she hiccupped.

"My Lady," came his plaintive words, "is true you have not been so kind to Gregor or crew, but," a sigh passed his lips, "crew has not been of best service to you – or your Lord brother. With the drinking and the not listening to the Lady and whatnot. Gregor has not helped the Lady Robin with important mission, and Gregor must apologise. Making of upping is utmost priority now."

Robin furrowed her brow fretfully. "What about the rest of the crew? I … I have not apologised to them over today."

Another kindly smile was flashed at her. "Worry not. Understand they have. Before left for homes today, offered their forgiveness and apologies they have, and wish the Lady the best of luck with task ahead."

"B—but I haven't even paid them yet! Or you for that matter!"

He waved his sausage like fingers dismissively. "Care was taken of it, as were gold for embalmer. Though stale bread is now only dinner tonight!" Some joviality infused his voice as he spoke, but a little seriousness returned to his face when Robin's lip began to quiver furiously. With a painfully clenching heart, Gregor wrapped his arms around her naked shoulders and gently pushed her head into the cradle of his neck.

"You have suffered most grievous loss today, after all you have been through." he soothed as he stroked her soapy wet hair.

"Know that Gregor, crew, and all of Plegia are supporting you always, Princess."

* * *

After she had a good cry and finished up with her bath, Robin sat swaddled in a multitude of threadbare towels and Gregor's shirt – he'd insisted since she had nothing to wear while he washed her clothes, reasoning that though they managed to book a room at the inn for a steep price, the innkeepers would never have accepted to launder Grimleal clothing – with the papers rescued from the ship spread out across the rickety bed. She frowned at them as though they'd offended her in some manner and she muttered curses into her now healed fists.

"Gregor is hearing sighings all the way from here!" came the loud bellow from the bathroom. His spiky auburn hair peeked out from the doorframe as he sidled close to check up on her.

"More of the bad news there is?"

A deep sigh made its way up her throat. "I'm afraid so Gregor. What happened today just complicated everything else so much more, and I'm not sure how to fix it."

That certainly sounded ominous. Traipsing out of the bathroom with a handful of her sodden garments, he draped them carefully over the frame of the open window and hoped the warm night air would at least dry them a bit. He faced her with his arms akimbo and waited patiently for her explanation.

She sighed again and twiddled her thumbs anxiously. "You know Daraen was supposed to represent Plegia in the peace talks while in Ylisstol…"

"…And brother is now gone." Gregor finished for her as a most peculiar sensation of apprehension began to fill him from the toes up. He tried to dispel it with a chortle of laughter and a shrug of the shoulders.

"Why should Plegia worry when Robin is here to solve little issue, no? Just take place at meetings and all worries are over!"

"I can't do that Gregor." she was surprised at how cool and rational she sounded when her gorge rose against her throat in unabashed fear. " The diplomats from Regna Ferox and Ylisse wrote to us not too long before we set sail from Chon'sin…they said that while they appreciated our… _gesture_, they made it very clear that we still had a ways to go before we could gain their trust completely."

She drew her fingers through her long white hair (thanks to Gregor, it was no longer riddled with sand and blood) and shuddered. Her lips felt too dry and she forced herself to continue.

"They said that they'd allow Plegia's presence at the table to negotiate, but they had _specific_ conditions, unfortunately. One of those being that my brother was to be Plegia's representative at the talks. Anyone else, _anyone_, and we would be turned away from the boardroom at once, marched out of Ylisse, and any future trade and interaction shut down. It doesn't help that women are barred from officially participating in politics here," she added in a savage growl.

His apprehension morphing into a hazy sense of dread, Gregor's shock manifested itself quite plainly when he took in that information. "The nerve of diplomats Robin! No honour at all! Why – why so harsh to Plegian mission when very clear you are for cooperation? Why is necessary for Daraen when you are here?"

"Well, he is the heir to the throne, after all, " she hated how she couldn't hide her bitterness from her tone, "and they mentioned how much they would value our sense of _goodwill_ should we entrust our prince to their care." Robin crumpled up one of the notes and lobbed it at the wall in a fit of rage.

Gregor spouted a litany of obscenities under his breath and pulled his hands through his hair before storming back to the bathroom. Robin was left staring after him and her body sagged in exhaustion and resignation.

"Though I can't really blame them for not trusting us…after all Plegia did."

As an uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, Robin tried to parse through the buzz of thoughts crowding out the space in her head. Such terrible things had happened in such a short span of time, and not only was it difficult to process it all at once, it was sheer terror to visualise the kind of impact it would have on the gathering, on Plegia, on everything she and Daraen had wept and bled for to make it to this point…only for their efforts to vanish like mist in the air.

She wanted to curse and spit at the Gods for daring to mock them so.

She breathed and counted to ten.

_You were never one for giving up and you never will be, Robin, so don't you dare think about quitting now. You've been through situations that were just as bad, and you've prepared for worse. Don't let everything that you've learned go to waste. _

Robin's mouth stretched into a grimace at the last thought.

_Think. Organise the facts. Consider what obstructs your path and the best way around it. _

She drummed her fingers on her knee thoughtfully as her mind relaxed into a familiar pattern of sorting and analysing. She could handle things like this.

_One of the stated requirements was to arrive on time in Ylisstol; given the amount of time needed to return to the beach, gather anyone who is even remotely willing to be part of a search party headed by a Plegian, and the size of Ylisse's southern coastline, delaying the time of arrival to try to find someone who might be dead by now would be pointless. _

Robin abhorred the mere thought of Daraen resting cold and alone at the bottom of the sea, his young life cut terribly short. However, it was a possibility that, no matter how hateful to consider, was one that could not be ignored in light of their current situation.

The half – formed plan was discarded reluctantly.

_If we cannot take time to search…then perhaps a substitute? But we don't have anyone at hand who not only knows enough of Plegian affairs and war negotiation, but also enough of Daraen's views in order to– _

Her line of thought ended there. What was she doing, deliberating over someone to take her brother's place just like that? Why was she mulling over such a thing when she had already even told Gregor that a replacement wasn't a viable option? Gods, it seemed as though grief muddled her thinking more than she thought possible; one of the few areas she felt comfortable in was now proving to be yet another obstacle. She truly was rather stupid if all her years of education and training could be undone in only a few hectic hours, if she was as foolish to let emotions cloud her judgement and trick her into seriously pondering over an impossibility –

_Or is it one?_

"Gregor!" she called. From the way he arrived so quickly to her bedside, it was as if he had practically flown there.

"What is milady needing? A solution has been found?"

"Gods, yes Gregor, and I can't believe it took me this long to realise it, not when the answer was sitting under our noses this whole time!"

"Truly?" Gregor's customary grin was back on his face, and he practically quivered with excitement as he gripped her pale shoulders and shook her slightly. "Pray, tell Gregor of this!"

Tentatively, Robin placed her own hands, so slim and small in comparison, over his prominent knuckles as she looked him dead in the eye. She steeled herself for a brief moment before soberly announcing,

"I will take his place at the talks."

Dead silence seemed to seep into the room through the many cracks in the ageing floorboards. He was frozen in place and had not removed his fingers from her skin, and his lips fumbled around to articulate a proper response to this shocking development. Instead, a deep, worried scowl worked its way onto his normally jovial face.

"Gregor does not understand this well," he pronounced cautiously. "Did not say that replacement was impossible?"

"But don't you see? It all makes sense!" She pushed him off her and sprang off the mattress to pace wildly around the perimeter of the room; he could almost picture Robin as a great cat stalking about in some far off jungle, impatient and hungry for the kill.

"Not only am I the one who knows him best, I know everything there needs to be known about the meetings and Plegia and the war. I know how negotiations are to be handled. I know what is to be said in a debate and everything necessary about potential enemies and allies. Gregor, I know how Daraen thinks and talks, how can I not be the one to stand in for him? How can I not be the one to best represent his point of view and Plegia's interests?"

"Is insanity," he cried, his expression taking on a desperate look as he grasped her by the shoulders again, rougher now this time, and spun her around to face him: her wide, hopeful, glassy eyes meeting his own terrified ones.

"I can pull this off Gregor –" came her angry retort, before he cut her off mid sentence.

"Not in politics women are, milady, not here! Substitute is not possible!" Gregor shook Robin as though he was hoping to rattle some sense into her, as though he could convey the depth of his fear for her with a show of strength.

"Said it yourself besides. Only brother was asked for." Her face darkened at this, and he recognised that what he thought would be persuasive phrasing only served to remind Robin of their current predicament...and how it seemed as though she would forever play a supporting role to Daraen.

As he was mentally berating himself for his unintentionally harsh choice of words, her hands curled under the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer so that they now stood nose to nose – or rather, nose to chest. Vaguely, he remembered the strength housed in her deceptively small frame and noticed the prominent musculature of her arms.

"Daraen and I are almost physically identical in every single way," she murmured, her deep brown eyes meeting his gaze evenly. "I can do this."

"More there is to being man than simply looks."

"None will be the wiser."

Gregor gave Robin a pained look. Slowly, carefully, he brought his arms to encircle her torso, the awkward embrace pushing her head into his rough, dirty tunic. She dropped her fingers from his neck in surprise yet remained silent as he tried to reason with her. He could not keep his voice from trembling.

"If caught you are – if found out – what will happen to you? Not so kind are these men that all will be forgiven."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." Though her voice was muffled by his chest, she spoke clearly.

"_They will kill you,_" he pleaded, and for a split second Robin wondered if he sounded as though he were on the verge of tears. His concern was touching, but did little to sway her. Not when there was so much at stake.

"I'm not so foolish as to not know how to properly disguise myself. I will do everything in my power to avoid detection and I _will_ get out of this alive. If not then at least I'll die happy knowing that what I did was for the sake of peace."

"But milady–"

A firm "No buts Gregor" startled him. The ferocity of her tone and the solidity of her stance were nothing new when it came to her, and yet he was still in awe and more than a little frightened of her drive and tenacity.

"I must go through with this. Any other alternative would mean disgracing all the work we have done to get to this point, and I will not let that pass. You _must _help me in this...if not for Daraen's sake, then at least for Plegia's."

_And mine too. _

Gregor studied her with a heavy heart. For someone as young as Robin, she already carried herself like a battle hardened soldier...which she was, albeit a soldier crafted from the battered remains of a little girl forced to grow up too soon. A child forced to bear the burdens of nations and their bloody legacies.

Her country needed her, and while he was fretting over imagined scenarios of terrible consequences – _that are very much possible_, a horrible voice whispered in his ear – she answered the call as though she were a fully armoured knight, and not a girl stranded in a foreign country with naught but the clothes on her back and a sea captain to guide her to her destination.

She would have made a fine queen. And it was with this understanding that prompted him to kneel reverently, if a little sadly, at her feet.

"Understand, surely, why Gregor is reluctant," he said morosely. Their callused palms slid against each other as he peered up into that too solemn face, shadowed by her snowy locks. He smiled ruefully.

"And yet, all Gregor can hope is that milady try to take care, eat well and write back to not worry frail old man," he tried to joke, and felt warmth suffuse him all the way to the roots of his spiky auburn hair when, for the first time since they had met, she gave him a timid grin in reply.

"Now," he grunted as he raised himself to his full height, "how we are going to get about with grand plan to save the kingdom?"

Her eyes gleamed, resolute, as she reached for the dagger he had strapped to his waist.

"A bit of a trim would be a good start."

* * *

The heat had been stifling that day and showed no signs of subsiding as the minutes crawled by on their agonisingly slow tortoise feet. Chrom usually considered himself a (somewhat) patient man, but he had to admit that waiting under such conditions was making him irritable and snappish.

"Chrooooom! Please let's just go inside already! I'm dying of thirst here!"

Lissa's constant whining didn't help much either.

Heaving what seemed to be his hundredth exasperated sigh that day, he turned his eyes skyward and hoped to distract himself observing a hawk's progress across the dazzling swathe of bright blue. Had it been any other day, and the weather more agreeable, he'd had called it a lovely sight.

It was a shame too, considering that it was in fact incredibly beautiful out. A soft breeze that was sorely missed in their spot at the top of the stairs ruffled the plentiful white bracts of the recently flowering dogwoods planted around the bailey; puffy clouds billowed lazily against their heavenly backdrop to the tune of keening birds while the sun shone marvellously above them.

"Chrooooooooom! You're not ignoring me again, are you?!" An infantile stamp of the foot punctuated her cry.

Yes, enjoyment was a rather short – lived thing, it seemed.

Sparing her only the slightest of glances, Chrom tried his hardest to sound even – tempered and unruffled, ever the serene picture of royalty he so aspired to. "Just a little longer Lissa. I'm sure they have a perfectly reasonable explanation for being tardy."

" 'Just a little longer?' Chrom, we've been out here for _six hours_. I don't want to wait 'just a little longer!' It's too hot out and I'm tired of standing here and I'm thirsty and I'm _bored_." She stomped her foot again and pouted for added effect, peeved that he was refusing to listen to her complaints.

Chrom felt his tolerant façade slipping away and he turned to face Lissa with an annoyed scowl. "It's my _duty_," he emphasised with a growl, "to make sure all representatives and their accompanying retinues reach the castle safely. If you're so fed up with waiting you can go back in by yourself. I'm staying."

She scoffed at his flippancy and determined to hit back harder. "If you stay out here any longer you'll get heatstroke and then die and then you won't be of use to anyone! Just accept that maybe, just maybe, they won't come. Why can't you just listen to me for once?"

"I'm staying here Lissa, and nothing you can do or say will change that."

"Ugh! You're just being stubborn!"

"And you're being childish!" he snapped back.

"Milord," a deep voice interjected suddenly. "If I may be so bold as to speak?"

Chrom often wondered how Frederick managed to keep his cool in the most uncomfortable of situations, both physically and mentally. He was envious and genuinely puzzled as to how he had not even managed to break the slightest of sweat in his tight leather breeches and heavy armour in the scorching heat – and quite ashamed at having him intervene in their decidedly petty squabble as though he was a parent disciplining wayward children.

Clearing his throat nonchalantly and trying to recover some semblance of calm, he motioned to the Great Knight in assent.

"That you may, Frederick."

"Milord has been standing here for six hours straight in the full sun, and while your tenacity and dedication to the task at hand is commendable, it stands to reason that it is an exercise in futility and a hazard to your health. I strongly suggest retiring to the medical ward for swift refreshment before commencing the opening ceremony – with the parties who are _actually_ present."

He had a point, one that Chrom hated to concede. They had originally allotted their visitors the span of a month to allow for an orderly arrival to Ylisstol, considering the urgency of their mission and the fact that the greater part of the continent's roads were destroyed. Most of the invited diplomats had come on schedule – the Feroxi boisterously laughing and clanging their armour the whole way, the Rossanois moaning over their dainty carriages getting stuck in the numerous potholes along the Northroad, the Valmese scaring half of Ylisse with their stoic faces and mechanical marching…

A glaring absence was noticed soon enough though. Namely, that of the representative from Plegia. Most had already assumed they wouldn't count on an appearance of his when Ylisse had announced its intention to host the proceedings, and they called Chrom a fool for mailing a summons to the surviving heirs to Plegia's throne. A reply addressed to him had proved otherwise and shocked everyone, more so in light of the events that led to the war's end.

Hope had burned fiercely in him after that. Hope that, perhaps with the presence of the world's greatest nations gathered together at the same table, they would be able to put their differences aside and work together to heal the scars of conflict.

The whispers had cropped up again after most of their visitors had been packed into the castle…with no sign of Plegian livery mingling amongst them.

_How typical of them. Sending a message and getting everyone's hopes up, only to snatch it away. _

_Why would a Plegian care for peace anyways?_

_I honestly don't understand what Chrom sees in their false promises. He would do us a kindness and keep us safe by just kicking them out. _

Chrom had steadfastly ignored their sniping and spite and chose to stand by his decision to welcome them with open arms, even if his people would hate him for it. He refused to believe that he was dealing with a so – called monster.

Even if he saw that sentiment reflected back at him in Frederick's very own eyes.

Lissa sensed his quiet discomfort and, forgetting the barbs they had traded only a few minutes ago, placed a small hand sadly yet reassuringly in the crook of his arm.

"Chrom…" she began tentatively, "it's the second day of the last week already. You're a good person for putting so much faith in them, but sometimes it's just better to…let go of it, you know?"

Frederick moved as if to return to the welcoming coolness of the hall behind the solid oak door, and motioned to Chrom. "It's best we listen to her, milord. I will go on ahead and inform the ladies to prepare a seat for you in the infirmary before this dreadful sun can harm you any further."

It seemed that the Gods were determined to make him swallow his words, however.

A loud clanging and shouting was heard just beyond the gatehouse and the guards stationed at the walls immediately went for their weapons. Lissa squinted at the great stone bridge that stretched out from the castle's entrance, the image hazy and bright in the torrid heat.

"What in the–?"

A pair of sweat lathered horses burst through the line the men had formed at the entrance, sending more than a few flying backwards with pained yelps. The people astride the saddles, a burly mountain of a man and a figure hidden beneath a dark hood, flailed about in a tizzy.

"I'm sorry! Oh Gods! I'm so sorry!"

They stumbled out of their stirrups and accidentally knocked down some more knights who tried to grab at the loose reins of the frantically pacing animals, ducking under reaching arms that failed to restrain them as they zoomed towards the high marble stairs where Chrom, Lissa and Frederick stood watching.

While Lissa was doubled over and making no attempt to disguise her loud cackling, Frederick's lips had thinned out into an expression of deep disgust over the ruckus the guards made as they fell over themselves attempting to stop the strange newcomers racing up the steps; he lightly fingered the heavy silver lance at his side. Chrom, on the other hand, was facing an astonishing whirl of emotion.

A very miniscule part of him was furious – furious at them for daring to be so late, for making him worry so much, for placing his reputation and the progress of the talks at stake – but it was quickly quashed by a mix of relief over their arrival, curiosity over what kind of face lay under the large hood, and utter elation that they were _finally here after all this time and were going to prove everyone wrong. _

Yes, they were finally there. Bent at the waist, panting hard and surrounded by spears pointed right at their faces, Chrom felt excitement bubble up fervently within him even as his long awaited guests struggled to speak after their rather impressive entrance.

"So…sorry…lateness…this oaf," a rough voice wheezed from under the hood, "decided it'd be…good idea to…sleep in…" the aforementioned oaf standing next to the mysterious person tried to laugh in reply but his pockmarked face split into a dry cough instead.

"No…" Chrom replied softly, and his heart soared as he watched the dark cloth be pulled back to reveal choppy white hair, pale skin slick with sweat, and a pair of dark brown eyes that shone with the most sincerest of apologies; even had he tried, Chrom still couldn't help the enormous smile that broke out over his teeth and crinkled the corners of his own eyes as he extended a hand forward in welcome.

"It's quite alright. And thank you for deciding to come...?"

The young man he had addressed looked confused for a second before he realised he was being prompted. Once again, Chrom's chest felt a happy squeeze when his question yielded a small, shy smile and a gloved hand stretching out to meet his own in a tentative and warm shake.

"My name is Daraen, your Highness."

* * *

Just as a reminder, Daraen is the default name for Robin/Rufure/Reflet in the European release of Awakening (specifically, the release available for France, Italy and Spain).

Holy moly! After working on this for about three months, I honestly can't believe I finally have it up! With all my upcoming uni work and such, I hope I can have enough time to update this at a certain pace along with _Get the Guy_. I'm so grateful for my two betas, and I'm especially thankful to variety for having so much patience with me and all those revisions, comments, and conversations.

In case anyone gets confused about the areas the story is going to take place in, take a look at this map:

serenesforest dot net / wp-content / uploads /2014 /06 /world-map-full dot jpg

To get a better idea on how the first chapter panned out, the doomed crew took a ship from no. 20 and were supposed to arrive at 18 (here it's named Melilla). Instead Gregor decided to steer them over to the coast below 23, where they were blown off-course, until the ship crashed below the Prologue point.

As a side note, this is totally meant to have comedic scenes (it _is_ an adaptation of Twelfth Night, after all!), but I'm really surprised with how...dark it started out as! It might get better in future chapters...I hope.


	2. Par for the Course

It's been over a year since I first submitted this (and my other fic!), so I'm very glad to have this somewhat back on track. I'm barely starting my fourth trimester of uni - the filter period is still not done, and what's worse is that this is the "trimester from hell", so again, I apologise for inconsistency in updating. However, I won't take over a year to add new chapter though!

That being said, I received lovely reviews and feedback in the last chapter - thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I'm happy that this is garnering some interest, and I'm very glad for all the advice and kind words. I'll keep them in mind as I continue to write and improve, so that I'm able to learn from more seasoned writers and also remember that I've brought enjoyment to some readers.

Many thanks to drunkdragon and varietyshow for helping me shape this chapter up!

* * *

"Daraen," Chrom repeated, the pleasant, friendly smile growing on his face, "is that foreign?"

There was a beat of silence before Lissa doubled over again, her blonde pigtails and sides shaking with a peal of laughter so forceful that she was inaudible. The guardsmen who had their pikes pointed at Robin and Gregor started to chuckle before Frederick shamed them into silence and forced their backs straight with a glance. It took Chrom a bit longer to realise his mistake, and he gave a quiet titter as his ears and cheeks were tinged scarlet.

"I – that is to say –" he began before an awkward speechlessness overtook him, and the young prince waited impatiently for Lissa to finish with her mockery of him.

Robin found the scene rather jarring and not quite what she expected of the scions of Ylisse; however odd, it endeared them more to her all the same.

The soft rustling of the dogwood blossoms in the breeze broke the princess out of her fit and she quieted down before the entry was permeated with an air of expectancy. All eyes were on Chrom now, and he cleared his throat with a pointed glare at his sister before speaking.

"We are very pleased to have you here with us, your Highness," he intoned with a formal bow of the head, and Robin and Gregor reciprocated with a deeper bend of the waist in the hopes of alleviating the force of Frederick's stare. Chrom was a bit taken aback at their formality, given Robin's status, but went on.

"On behalf of the land of Ylisse and the furthest reaches of Naga's dominion, we extend our deepest thanks to you and hope that our time together results in many long years of peace and friendship to come," Chrom finished, pleased that his long hours of practice resulted in an acceptable statement, even if it was somewhat ruined by his initial blunder and Lissa poking fun at him for it.

Robin smiled, thankful for their polite reception, and tried to improvise an appropriate response.

"I – We most humbly thank you for your acceptance of our presence, and…beg you forgive our tardiness. We did not mean it so, and express our deepest shame for it. We…marvel at Ylisse's generosity, its nobility, and share your sentiments," she remarked cautiously, and was reassured by Gregor nodding along in agreement and encouragement.

"Great! So that settles it!" Lissa clapped her hands excitedly, turning to Chrom with a relieved expression. "We can go inside now, right? Let's get some rest, change into something nicer, get some _water_ and then we can finally start everything!"

"Yes, let's," Chrom sighed, motioning to a pair of sentries to open the doors. As most of the guards moved back to their posts at the gate, Chrom, Robin and Lissa eagerly drank in the rush of cool air that escaped the hall and advanced toward it. Before Robin could step any further, an armoured hand was clapped over her shoulder and spun her into a sharp turn, forcing her eyes up into meeting the Great Knight's cold gaze.

"_Frederick_!" Lissa gasped, scandalised at his open disrespect, and while Gregor shouted and strained against the men tugging him back, Chrom seemed too shocked to form a single word.

"How did you get past the controls at the bridge?" he pressed, signalling some of the surprised soldiers to fan out towards the walls and the rest of the ward (_as if we had the time to bring assassins with us,_ Robin thought).

"Or the city gates, for that matter?" he leaned in uncomfortably close.

"It's alright Gregor," Robin placed a hand over the seething captain's arm before facing Frederick. She reminded herself not to appear too calm lest she further arouse the man's paranoia, yet also to avoid an outright confrontation.

"We have the necessary documentation that His Highness's office provided," Robin answered carefully, as she slipped out the sheaf of papers from between her belts and overcoat and thrust them into Frederick's hand with a pointed look.

"And yet you still managed to bowl my men over rather than going over these with them."

She had to credit him at least with how hard he was trying to trip them up,Robin noted, hoping that the Arcwind tomes she had hidden in their clothes had disintegrated completely on their way up to the castle.

"Forgive me for my words, but I would have done that ten times over it if meant arriving earlier. I still find it hard to forgive myself for our tardiness."

"Be as it may, it does not change the fact that you came almost a full two weeks after everyone other party, and that there are protocols in place that we cannot stray from enforcing," Frederick remarked stiffly, curling his thumbs into her robe.

"Frederick, please," Lissa groaned, her eyes darting nervously between the assembly and the opened doorway. "We can take care of that inside – please, let's not humiliate him…"

Robin threw off her coat and tossed it unceremoniously to Gregor, who was barely able to catch it after having to have shrugged off the guardsmen's holds over him. A bright red sunburn marking Robin's white skin was revealed – Chrom's breath hitched at the sight. After she tugged off the pair of bronze swords sheathed to her hips and dumped them into Frederick's arms, she bent over and started working simultaneously on pulling off her bolero and boots.

"That's enough," Chrom heaved Robin up to her feet and shepherded her and Lissa into the shadow of the doorframe. "We've no need for that, not when it's keeping us from our schedules. And besides," he added, turning to his knight, "didn't you mention a visit to the infirmary? It certainly looks as though our _guest_ needs it," he mentioned sternly.

"Of course," Frederick assented, and Robin sighed inwardly at how close they were to discovering her when they had barely arrived at the castle. She was to keep her guard up at all times and make sure that even the slightest possibility of detection was to remain strictly hypothetical.

It was a lonely, paranoid thought. Lonelier still was Gregor watching her from within the circle of guardsmen, and his plaintive eyes seemed to age him a decade more; when he caught her staring he grinned widely and waved, as though everything was fine and their goodbye was but an afterthought.

"He'll…he'll be alright, won't he?" Robin murmured morosely, alternating between worrying her lip and rumpled shirt.

"Oh, he will! We'll see to it that he's all set up for the evening. _Right, Frederick_?" Lissa prodded insistently at their attendant's armour-clad side.

"We can prepare suitable quarters for him in the gatehouse, milady," was his curt answer, and Robin was irritated at his refusal to address her too.

"That's good…I uh, need him well rested for a missive to be sent tomorrow," Robin muttered lamely, and managed a quick, sad flick of her wrist to Gregor; the image of him being led down the steps was blocked out by the creaking doors being pushed closed. Lissa pressed her hand into the small of Robin's back and steered her past the threshold and into the cool hall, with Frederick and Chrom following close behind.

Her sense of foreboding grew, and yet was somehow balanced out by what she felt was inappropriately timed excitement.

Lissa filled in the silence by cheerily pointing out certain details of their space: the pale, creamy limestone used in the castle's construction, the red carpet occupying most of the floor – apparently only used when receiving foreign dignitaries, otherwise it was blue, Lissa explained – the torch brackets designed in the appearance of wyverns spouting flames.

Robin listened politely to her spiel but watched Chrom and Frederick out of the corner of her eye. The former seemed to be lecturing the knight on something, with said man nodding along at certain intervals. She quickly faced forward as soon as they caught up and flanked them, Frederick a pace behind. Certainly impressive was the size of the passage; it seemed possible that two soldiers riding abreast could fit in comfortably.

"It must be a pretty important message if you can't keep him here with you, is it? And, um, I hope I'm not being rude by asking this, but does it have anything to do with you showing up by yourself?" Lissa questioned innocently. Chrom saved Robin from having to reply by sandwiching himself between the girls and cutting across his sister.

"We can ask him later, Lis. Right now we should focus on getting cleaned up before we head to our stations. Doesn't a great big pitcher of ice water sound nice?" he pressed, his eyes sliding towards Robin in a conspiratorial wink.

"Oh, that sounds _divine_!" Lissa sighed longingly. Robin remained cautiously silent, but mouthed _thank you_ to her host. Whatever his future intentions, he was trying awfully hard to be welcoming and ingratiating, and for that she was grateful.

As the doors opened to reveal a spacious cloister filled with the gurgle of a fountain, the princess flagged down an available page without breaking stride. The servant (no more than a boy really) gawped in open astonishment at the sight of the moon shining back at him in the sun: not the product of his mother's scolding if he refused to be put to bed at night, but in the form of an exotic, unknown visitor. Frederick's shortly worded dismissal broke the child's stare, and off he went, whizzing up a staircase waiting behind the colonnade.

If the mutters and gestures that sprouted up from the few people milling about the walkways were daunting, then the thought of hundreds of judgemental, gossiping tongues waiting for her within the castle walls was beyond nerve wracking.

Here she would not only be tested, but her very abilities and endurance would be placed into question. Years of training and pain could be undone by a single misstep –

_Stop being so melodramatic, you stupid girl_, Robin's inner voice snapped as they approached the keep, an additional set of guards poised to ready their entry.

_You've gotten this far…you can't turn back now, so you might as well brace yourself for whatever there is to come_. A fitting statement, she considered anxiously, for the very moment the mighty oaken panels were pushed forward with a deafening groan, and the trio ushered into the vestibule.

The sumptuous carpet reappeared, taking on the hue of jewelled pomegranates as the fabric and space surrounding it were drenched in sunlight. It streamed through windows that almost dominated the entirety of the left wall, with suits of armour belonging to heroes past glaring down from pedestals spaced between them. Corbels in the shape of pegasi supported a beautifully carved hammer beam ceiling, where the colours of Valm, Plegia, Regna Ferox and Ylisse fluttered and vied for space. And, at the very end, more flowing tracery was featured on a set of rosewood doors with a balcony on them; an immense bronze of the goddess Naga rested at its middle, with the window behind it creating an aureole that sent splinters and splashes of blue and green light dancing throughout.

The general effect was nothing short of awe-inspiring, and Robin was too caught up in her amazement to continue her moody train of thought. She was no stranger to grandeur herself, but it was impossible to not appreciate the majesty of such a place.

However, as all good things are wont to do, the moment came to an abrupt end as she was made aware of the silence.

Then, the whispers.

"He's scrawnier than I had imagined," an elderly nobleman pointed out to his companion.

"I thought he was much older than this," a haughty young lady dissolved into a fit of giggling with her band of lackeys.

"He looks very dirty," a little maidservant remarked disdainfully, and a footman shushed her with a nervous hiss.

Robin snuck a surreptitious sniff of her shoulder, unsurprised to find that she did indeed smell like a stable. But what could she do? She had to stuff her robes into the saddlebags to avoid being stopped on the road, and riding fast and hard had excluded any baths. Poor, sweet Gregor had failed to remember that a "few day's travel" was in fact much longer than that, and to make up for lost time they spent most of the days and nights on the move. The rag she had used to disguise her distinctive hair and protect her face from the sun was currently stuffed down her shirt to flatten her already small breasts, and it contributed to her overall sweatiness.

Chrom, previously very pleased to see Robin marvelling at his castle, frowned at the rudeness of his court; he itched to chastise them publicly, but figured it would embarrass Daraen and offend the more powerful among them, as annoying as it was to admit.

He had Frederick though, and it helped when the man turned his signature glare on the loudest of the bunch, creating temporary waves of quiet wherever he passed. Chrom made a grand show of slipping his arm over the prince's shoulder and pulling him close, offering him bits of trivia of his house:

"Did you know that it took almost a century for the builders to finish just this hall?"

"The carpet is almost entirely made out of Themian wool."

"Do you know why it's called a Katarine window?"

So on and so forth, with Lissa chiming in occasionally until they exited and a swell of sound grew right behind them.

They all continued with their idle chatter and pleasantries, with the siblings making approving remarks wherever Robin admired the scenery, until they reached a dark doorway on the second floor.

"Oh, Lis, there you are!"

A tall young man with neatly combed auburn hair and wearing the steel-blue cape and hat of an Ylissean Sage jogged to them and clasped Lissa's hands within his own. The princess laughed and pressed a kiss to his fingers before his eyes met Robin's and he looked her up and down with a wary face.

"So he's arrived huh? I'm Ricken. It's a pleasure to meet your Highness," the man bowed deeply. Robin tried to reciprocate but ended up butting heads due to their proximity, and Chrom failed to stifle a grin.

"I'm so sorry for that!" Robin patted the lad's shoulder before remembering that she didn't know him and snatched back her hand awkwardly. Ricken's expression turned from cautious to amused, and he laughed.

"No, if anything I should be apologising! I shouldn't have stood so close to your Highness," he bowed again and Lissa rolled her eyes fondly at him. Ricken elbowed her playfully and the young lady was about to retaliate before Chrom coughed pointedly.

"Oh! Right, right," Ricken muttered and he too cleared his throat, with an air of importance.

"The ladies prepared some couches for you all and I've asked Thomas to get some water. I sent Bartram to the kitchens to let them know of your Highness's arrival," another respectful nod in Robin's direction, "and Mary told me the rooms are all set."

"Thank you Ricken," Chrom murmured appreciatively and Lissa beamed proudly up at him.

At the same time the doors were thrown open rather roughly, and a fat, one-eyed crone eyed them critically from within the frame.

"About bloody time," she gathered them all into the infirmary and a younger nurse hurried to close the entry with a softer touch.

While Robin busied herself with admiring the pretty and well – lit space – she especially liked how the fanned vaults resembled dragon wings – Chrom, Lissa and Ricken sat themselves on the pale velvet green chairs, Frederick keeping a watchful eye a few steps away.

She joined them shortly after noticing the few patients in the wing were peeking at her from under their sheets. The same little servant boy from before carried a tray bearing a pitcher with ice fetched straight from the cellars, and small silver cups formed a charming little circle around it.

"Thank you Thomas," Robin gave the child a grin as she accepted her cup, and gulped down the drink with the force of a thirsty camel. Thomas's staring was interrupted by his tiny laugh, but the head nurse's glance in his direction sent him scurrying away, embarrassed, into the arms of a uniformed lady with the same ginger hair as him.

Chrom smiled fondly at the boy before inquiring, "We hope everything is to your liking so far. Is there anything that we may be able to provide for you? Hungry? Still thirsty?" The prince swept his arm as though offering the entire room.

At that moment, Robin understood the full extent of his naiveté towards the situation.

"Treating that sunburn should be the first on the list," the matron announced, setting down an assortment of ointments and elixirs as the nurses bustled around them with moistened cloths.

"Luella, you take care of his Highness," she pushed a thin, skittish girl towards Robin. The poor thing was totally silent as she wet a folded towel. Deciding that she too would be quiet – if it meant not scaring the nurse any more than she already was – Robin watched as she smeared a microscopic amount of ointment on the cloth.

Chrom and Lissa watched closely.

The tension was somewhat cut by the full absurdity of the nurse's behaviour – every time her hand came close to the Plegian's burnt arm, her frightened hum would grow louder, only for her to snatch her hand back and repeat the process again.

Lissa stifled a nervous titter and Chrom frowned.

"Oh, get _on with it_ girl," the old woman growled as she bodily removed the nurse and saw to Robin's burn herself. "He ain't gonna bite ye," the woman scrubbed the red skin briskly, and while her's wasn't the gentlest of treatment, it got the job done well enough: the pain receded and her normal colour began to show.

"I'm sorry –" Luella began.

"Bandage duty," her mistress replied, and the girl let out a sob as her colleagues coaxed her over to a cabinet at the far end of the room.

Before another uncomfortable hush could settle over them, Robin addressed the old woman. "Your treatment is very much appreciated. I am very glad to have been in your capable hands."

"T'ain't nothin' but my obligation." She repacked her burn kit with a flourish and walked back to the cabinet to hand it over to the ashamed Luella for storage.

"We apologise for this –" Chrom began, his voice leaking a bit of desperation.

"It's nothing!" Robin reassured. "Really. You've all been so kind to me in the little time we've known each other – and it's really no trouble at all. In…in fact…I daresay that I'd rather we drop the formalities. You can just call me R – Daraen."

Chrom brightened considerably at that; Robin was thoroughly amused when he visibly straightened up in his seat. "Really? Ah, well then, you can call me –"

"Absolutely not," Frederick scowled from his place behind Chrom. Robin wanted to laugh at how Lissa and Ricken jumped at the sound of his voice, but was too unnerved by the speed at which he'd reached the couch from the door.

"High rank or not, foreign dignitaries are to observe protocol at all times as befitting milord's house. You are to refer to him as 'Your Grace' at all times."

"Oh, that's laying it on too thick, and in _your_ case that's saying something," Lissa snapped. Her big blue eyes glittered with barely restrained annoyance. "Nobody will care if we forget about the stupid protocol for a moment! And besides, Chrom's not Exalted yet anyways—"

"That'll do Lissa," the man muttered.

The sullen hush returned to the atmosphere. Robin was sorely tempted to try and say something – anything – that could at least get them talking again. Her guilt at not being in the castle for a day and already causing trouble for her hosts kept her mute and curled up within herself.

It was Ricken who saved them.

"I…uhhh…oh, would you just look at the time? It's gotten so late that I can smell food already! Everyone must already be at the Hall by now, so we should hurry up and join them, huh?" he laughed a little too loudly.

Chrom blinked dumbly, but in the short time that it took for him to process it he was lifted out of his displeasure and his seat. "Oh…yes! Right. Food. Supper." He cleared his throat importantly and turned to the staring nurses.

"Ladies! We are very grateful for your attentions, but we must take our leave. We thank you kindly and, er, hope to see you soon at the banquet."

The women barely had any time to reply to their lord before he was out the doors in a speedy walk, with Lissa, Ricken, Frederick and Robin tagging along behind. She almost missed little Thomas's wave goodbye.

Chrom's panic over the possibility of arriving late to his own feast was palpable, and Robin thought that his urgency would compel him into a run. Her guilt doubled over the lengths he had to go not only to keep her comfortable in the short time she had spent there, but also to appease his subjects and other guests to keep everything on schedule.

"Do you know what you're going to wear?" Lissa panted as they turned a corner sharply and nearly upset a servant's tray.

"You know that I've got everything picked out since the week before, why ask now?"

"It's because it's so _weird_ for you to be so well organised!"

"Very funny Lissa, just keep making fun of me in front of Daraen like that."

"Does your Highness know what to wear now too?" Ricken asked as they slowed to a stop in front of a solid, slate blue door. A detachment of guards, previously idling in the contiguous hallway, ran over immediately and bowed when they caught sight of Chrom and Frederick.

"Er…about that…" Robin began.

"You didn't bring any clothes." While Chrom didn't say it maliciously, it was still shameful to hear it being said at all. Robin nodded, mortified.

"And—and – you didn't bring your people either!" Lissa sounded very concerned, and her small hands clasped over Robin's beseechingly. "What happened?"

"Surely you would not believe it due to some woe of his, milady?" Frederick's iron-hard glare latched onto Robin's face. "This smells of a trap."

"_Frederick_." The toughness of Chrom's voice matched Frederick's unyielding stare. "Ask Mary to fetch my summer clothes – the older ones, not the silk. And have Rood and Karel here for the night shift."

Frederick didn't argue, but his gaze remained steely. "At once milord." Before he could leave, presumably to the prince's quarter's, Chrom leaned in for the slightest of moments before he was off. _We will continue this conversation later_ was its clear meaning.

Eyes darting nervously between Chrom and Frederick's rapidly receding figure, Ricken bowed. "I better be readying myself too. I'll see you in a bit Lissa. Chrom, your Highness," he bowed again and took off at a slight jog with a small wave.

Chrom pursed his lips and shook his head in exasperation, watching Ricken for a quiet moment. "I beg your forgiveness," he said, turning to Robin with a stricken look. "He's a good man…he's never quite this rude. Please, don't think ill of him."

_Or us_, Robin understood.

"Don't worry so much on my behalf. I've no great expectations for kindness," she raised her hand lightly when it looked like Chrom and Lissa wanted to protest, "nor will I begrudge those who would refuse it. I have no right to demand it in the first place."

"That's not true…" Lissa whimpered.

To hear her speak so sincerely provoked a wounded smile from Robin; she held the blonde's hands gently.

"Perhaps. But to hear such words, and have such kindness shown to me is all I could ask from you. Please, don't trouble yourselves over what you cannot hope to have under control."

Robin drew back and allowed the guards to open the door to her quarters for her. "I think I should probably hurry myself – can't come any later than I already have," she tried to joke, her smile dropping slightly when the siblings didn't reply.

The only indication Chrom gave to being upset was the tightening of his jaw. Gazing intently at Robin for some moments, he later bowed stiffly and turned to leave with the squeak of his boots. Lissa struggled in his grip and whined about staying longer, but then huffed and waved sulkily goodbye.

"We hope to see you soon then." His blue eyes betrayed his worry, his meddlesome desire to press the issue further…his clear intention to disregard her reassurances.

_If not a prince, then every bit a chivalrous lord_. Anyone else would have called him a damned fool for openly displaying such naiveté and candour, and while Robin was more than inclined to agree, it was precisely those qualities that made her decide that, so far, she liked him immensely.

Turning to enter her apartments, what she found was overall very pleasing: a handsome four poster snug within a navy blue coverlet and curtains; basic necessities like an armoire; other charming touches like a tapestry depicting a forest scene and a masterfully carved fireplace.

To her left, she glimpsed of what she assumed was a sitting room, and the door on the right was closed. There were, surprisingly, a number of Plegian details scattered about: faience from the Gwelo river region, a puzzle-box from Khoramshar lying on the desk, brass and coloured glass lamps from the capital.

Everything was, of course, in varying shades of blue, green and yellow. Lissa struck her as more of the decorating type than Chrom, and her thoughtfulness was very touching.

She suspected that the servants assigned to her were handpicked specifically for their open-mindedness, as a grandmotherly lady removed her coat with a warm smile. Though she supposed it was a tad ridiculous to assume they would run screaming at the sight of her, Robin remembered the way the people in the halls sneered.

Before she was able to enter the washroom to freshen up, strong knocking at the door drew her out of her thoughts. Opening it revealed Frederick's dour face and him holding assorted books balanced over neatly folded clothes. Mary the housekeeper stood next to him with a bemused expression.

"Milord sends these and bids you wear them for the evening," he placed them carefully in Robin's arms, "I've taken the liberty of compiling certain texts on etiquette to assist you during your stay; heavens know you need them."

"How considerate of you. If not for your efforts then I am certain I would be completely lost," Robin ground out, her servants sniggering at Frederick's expense.

Amazingly, her sarcasm flew right over the knight's head. He straightened up, surprised, but then gave a curt nod. "But of course. I live to serve and milord's household takes great care with hospitality." A pause. He looked at her strangely. "If there is something you require, do not hesitate to call upon me."

"Will do," Robin said drily, and allowed him to shut the door.

Her ladies clucked and fussed as they herded her into the washroom. "How much of that were his actual words, or milord Chrom's, d'you bet?" they inquired, drawing hot water into the tub.

"I can't quite tell myself, but do I hope he gets better at understanding human speech," she replied, and the maids laughed heartily.

"I'll take those milord," a younger lady stretched her hands out towards the clothes.

Robin blanched, but masked her brief alarm with politeness. "Oh. Um. I'd rather dress myself…I hope you don't mind. I'm rather accustomed to it." She scrambled for more excuses. "I had expected you would assist me with the hearth instead. Ylisse is much chillier than I had expected."

"If your Highness says so," the women said, sharing a confused look. They curtsied gracefully and shut the door with a click.

Robin surveyed the bathroom appreciatively. It was as beautifully decorated as her previous rooms and had a real tub with functioning plumbing and scented soaps, unlike the sorry excuses back in Southtown.

She sighed in exhaustion and wriggled out of her grimy, crusty clothing, scrubbing out the dirt from her body. She indulged in a brief soak while flipping through some of the books, and while she was right to expect the usual amount of idiocy, she had to admit there were several bits she was better off learning.

When she was done and smelt more closely like a proper human than a horse, she inspected the finery Chrom sent: parti-coloured hose, soft leather shoes and linen chemise, as well as a gorgeous saffron yellow doublet and jerkin that she knew would clash horribly with her pasty complexion.

Pulling the bandages she had snatched from the sick ward tightly around her chest, a sudden thought occurred to her that made her reconsider future dressing procedures:

_Does this mean I should stuff? _

Sprinting down the halls while trying to get a hold of her too big clothes – the only reason the hose stayed on was because she had pulled them up all the way to her chest – Robin had the distinct feeling that she was being followed.

"Sir – Sir! Your Highness!" the valets cried.

Oh. Right.

They skidded to a stop and, most indecorously so, pulled her behind a column.

"What's all this now?" Robin asked, trying to tamp down a spike of panic when the men pulled open her coat and fiddled with her shoes.

"Your Lordship left before we could make some," the blonde huffed as he stuffed some rags between her toes and heel, "much needed adjustments."

"Some _last minute _adjustments," his greying companion added as he packed more cloth into her sleeves and (_carefuldon'tlethimtouchthere!)_ around her back.

"We shall ask the Lady Mary for additional clothes," the boy straightened up her collar. "And the seamstresses shall be sent for."

Robin squirmed away from their touch, ran back when she realised she had been rude and bowed awkwardly to them before heading into the throne room. The valets shared a confused look.

"Odd lad," the elder of the pair said.

"Throne room" was a bit of a misnomer due to its size. It seemed more appropriate to call it an audience hall, especially considering the fact that the entire court (or most of it, anyways) seemed to be present. Her attempts to enter unobtrusively were ruined by the loud fanfare that announced her arrival, and she tried not to look sheepish as she joined the other three ambassadors at the foot of the dais.

She heard whispers all through her walk down the nave, around a large brazier, and she figured she might as well start getting used to it.

Basilio was impossible to not recognise, even with the purple trim of the prætor's toga replacing his tight battle gear. The other two men she had never before seen; Robin assumed that the stunning blonde was Valmese due to his blood red garb and cold gaze, leaving the severe looking middle-aged man to be Rosannois.

"You may now rise," Chrom's surprisingly mature sounding voice rang with an echo.

Like the other three she had kept her head respectfully down, but looking up surprised her. Gone were the practical looks the siblings bore earlier, replaced with expensive fabrics and regal bearings: Lissa's hair was swept up into a snood lined with pearls, and long pearl necklaces trailed down her sunny yellow gown. Chrom provided a stark contrast, most of his clothes a cloudy black excepting his stormy blue jerkin. Silver clocking was featured on his hose and a heavy silver chain bearing the nation's crest rested over his heart. Had she not spoken to them but hours ago, she would have pictured the stern and wise rulers that storybooks favoured.

Robin thankfully caught herself staring and avoided embarrassment. She waited patiently until the other three had crossed up to the platform with the royal pair to kiss the star sapphire on Chrom's finger. Disgusted by the thought that a surely ancient relic had the saliva of hundreds (or – horrors – _thousands_) all over it, she opted instead to brush her lips over his hand. She didn't dare raise her eyes but the way the prince squeezed her fingers in a quiet reply was reassuring, and she rejoined the others behind him.

Now they waited until a procession of eight robed men walked to the platform from the hall's entrance. Robin wondered if the way the banners hung from the columns indicated their order of appearance: a flaming torch, a sword, a sheaf of wheat, a flowering branch; two birds, a triskelion, a quill and chisel, and a plough and fish hook.

When they too had finished salivating over their sovereign, they lined themselves next to the ambassadors. Before she could fully study them to judge who presented the biggest threat, the din stilled as Chrom motioned for silence. An air of anticipation rose to fill the void.

"Cousins," he began, "friends. Honoured guests. We thank you all for your presence this evening. For the next months you bear witness to a historic and truly magnificent event. This is the first time in more than three centuries that the leaders of our worlds' great nations stand together, in this hallowed ground. Yet the historicity of this is not what matters. Rather, that we stand to make a difference. To be a guiding light in these dark times."

He paused for effect before continuing.

"War is a scourge. War takes and never returns, no matter how hard we may pray, how far we may run, or how long we may fight. These years have been hard on us, and to deny the people respite would be to condemn them to misery and suffering. To deny the world a cease would be callous and senseless, and the only thing we would have achieved would be the same results as our fathers."

Robin noticed several in the hall and the gallery above shifting uncomfortably at that.

"The very meaning of the word 'freedom' suggests the absence of pain and want. As we are now, we have the power and the strength to achieve that freedom for everyone's sake. Our children, and their children's children need not know the horrors of fear and loss. For we have all lost, and it is with that understanding that we need to strive towards a greater good. We cannot continue to cloak ourselves within suspicion and intolerance and expect any good from it. All peace is borne from trust, leadership and the initiative to compromise.

Emmeryn understood this better than anyone," his voice lowered, conveying the depth of his mourning to his audience. "Emmeryn's entire life's work was dedicated to the good of the country. She was willing to reach above and beyond for those in need. Her compassion compelled her to sacrifice her very life out of her love for us and her love of others. It is our hope that we can continue this legacy of hers and assure that her efforts were not in vain."

Chrom bowed his head to signify a moment of silence, and there was a ready compliance from all with the exception of a baby's cry. The anticipation had sobered into something sadder.

Robin's heart panged with the empathy of loss, and the deepest of guilt.

She took the opportunity to discreetly glance around: the second oldest of the men looked incredibly sorrowful. The youngest looked bored and was picking his nails but straightened up immediately when the quiet ended.

"She did not believe that faith, charity and hope were unattainable ideals. She did not believe that freedom and peace were half-and-half affairs. She knew that nations can fall, but the bravery and determination of a few can be enough to hold up even the weakest of foundations. It will not do to only remember her and those before her as martyrs, but as inspirations to push through with our goals. _I _come forth not as an Exalt, nor a sovereign, but a man like any other who understood what it is she fought for. And as a man like any other, I alone cannot hope to achieve a vision of this magnitude alone. I call on you to help me plant this seed, to spark this flame, and nurture it with care; for Naga herself looked upon the land when it was only but seedlings.

Today we stand committed to the proposition that we will not leave the table empty handed. We guarantee it to the world – we _owe _it to them. It is in these halls that we hope to reap what we sow and make good on our promises. Be it so that these times are not remembered by our descendants as a time of despair, but one of endless optimism for a shining future."

Subdued applause echoed throughout the cavernous chamber, yet it grew, bolstered by the strength of Chrom's conviction. It seemed to burn as brightly as the candles in the enormous chandeliers overhead.

Frederick stepped forward with a large golden torch and handed it to Chrom solemnly. The elderly man whom Robin noticed during the speech approached the prince and addressed the hall with a bow before conjuring a small blue flame in his circled hands.

"_Heavenly Mother, Sun of Our Skies, Light of Our Lives. We bid You watch over us and allow us the brilliance of Your Presence. It is with Your Grace that You have bestowed Your Fire upon us to keep us warm and safe. And thus we pray that the flame shall burn forever bright, and woe befall should we dare to let it die_."

He placed the blaze into the lip of the torch and bowed once more before retreating to his position. Chrom raised the torch high before striding confidently to the brazier and he deposited the flame into its pit.

The tiny spark grew monumentally in size until it towered almost to the height of the ceiling. The dragon within the flaming maelstrom threw its head back with a roar and stretched its mighty wings, drawing amazed and terrified reactions from the crowd. Almost as quickly as it started, the fire withdrew into the brazier and blue, yellow and orange light flickered warmly.

Thunderous applause broke the brief stupor. The show of approval had Chrom and Lissa grinning almost as brightly as the fire, and Basilio broke protocol to come forward and enclose them in a bone-crushing hug. Some of the robed men tutted sternly, but Robin felt rather moved at the display of affection.

There was a general sense of relief and excitement as a small army of servants herded the assembly into the passage joining the great hall with the throne room. Chrom's smile slipped a bit as the stream of people flowed past the dais, and he beckoned Frederick to him subtly. Robin watched as they exchanged a few words, the prince looking away but his expression somewhat strained. Frederick drew back, and for a second it seemed as though the knight would roll his eyes, but the annoyance was quickly smoothed over and he replied inaudibly. Lissa was more vocal in her impatience and bounded over to Robin with a loud clacking of pearls.

"You'll be sitting next to me!" she sparkled with mirth, and tugged the Plegian cheerfully (and surprisingly forcefully) along with the rest of those eager to start dining.

"Easy Lissa. Besides, you don't know if the seating plan will allow it," Chrom caught up to them with another of his effortless grins, Frederick and the robed men trailing behind.

"Uh, I checked it before, and it definitely says that Daraen is on my right. Weren't you supposed to know that already?"

"Whatever. You can be really intolerable sometimes, you know that?"

"Whenever you want, big brother."

Before Chrom could add a retort to what Robin was finding highly amusing, one of the men broke formation to shake Chrom's hands hysterically.

"Excellent speech milord! Truly one for the annals," his immensely fat girth wobbled enthusiastically. "The court seemed to find it rather touching, and I couldn't agree more!"

"Thank you Harald. Though I couldn't have done it without a lot of practice," he laughed. "And many revisions on Miriel's part," he added to himself.

"Oh, but you must admit that speech was always one of your talents! Milord is much too modest for his own good," the lord chuckled.

Robin piped up. "I distinctly remember his talks being rather popular on the battlefield. His soldiers always fought harder after being in his presence," she was pleased to see that the prince was blushing lightly under her praise.

"Oh, forgive my rudeness! I had totally forgotten that your Highness walked among us!" There was an oddly manic gleam in the man's chestnut eyes as he subjected her arms to the same vigorous pumping as Chrom's.

"It is no trouble at all, Sir…?"

"Harald, Harald Eschmann your Highness. I must say that your presence here is truly an inspiration! What an honour it is for my humble self to be in such noble company! How uplifting it is to witness the goodwill of our neighbours! I do hope you enjoy your stay here, and I assume that milord Chrom has already seen to it that you are suitably well accommodated. However, should the need arise, do not hesitate to seek me out! I shall do whatever you necessitate to, ah, facilitate your integration. And I must add that I am simply amazed, amazed I tell you, that I am able to observe the genius of your Highness in action! The stories they have told! The rumours that abound! Truly an honour! I do hope to accomplish many great things with your Lordship during the, ah, proceedings."

Robin was flabbergasted that he didn't seem the least bit winded when he finished.

Eschmann decided he wasn't and followed up by snatching her wrist and pulling back her sleeve.

"Oh my! You certainly are rather pale for your kind. Or is this a more common trait among your people?"

Ricken scurried to them from behind the jabbering masses, flustered and wrinkling his fine silk jacket from the effort. Chrom seemed to be competing in terms of redness and looped his arm over Robin, prying her away with a stream of apologies.

"Father, you can't just say something like that to others! A—a—and especially not people like the prince!"

"Come now son, I mean no harm from it! It was an honest question."

"An honest question he says! Next thing you know he'll be shopping for new linens to match that pasty skin of yours, kid!" a deep laughter boomed. Basilio marched to them with his usual bravado and smacked Robin's shoulder playfully; or at least that's what she assumed he thought he did since it felt like a bear rammed into her from behind.

"Are you sure that's even a joke? You're losing your touch Basilio," she wrinkled her nose.

"And I suppose you fancy yourself a jester to judge it, huh? That seems too unrealistic for such a serious guy like you," he smirked, and she rolled her eyes hard.

Chrom raised a questioning brow. "So you're acquainted with Basilio, Daraen?"

"We've seen each other here and there. Mostly on the field," Basilio interrupted.

"He tried to crush my head in. On multiple occasions."

"Good times, good times. But we can let bygones be bygones, and now we're all gathered here for the _noblest_ of intentions," he thwacked her again, and Robin was almost annoyed that Chrom and Lissa seemed torn between confusion and amusement.

Lissa perked up significantly when they entered the hall. "I can smell the food already!" she squealed.

Robin identified with the princess's excitement. Ignoring the servants and Master of Ceremonies directing them to their own table on another dais, she thought of the long days spent with the meanest and dirtiest of rations – or more often, none at all. The anxiety gnawing at their bellies had sometimes helped her and Gregor to cope. But now, she would be feasting in the company of fellow royals, on whatever she liked and whatever amount.

She wished that Gregor might be in the hall, too. She was still brimming with apprehension and missed him terribly, but the only invitees she saw were nobility, staff and other assorted castle folk.

Once they reached their spots they too were divided with an easy efficiency: Chrom and Lissa sat the head, with Robin to her right and Basilio to his left. Next to Robin was the gorgeous Valmese blonde, and Basilio shared his space with the Rosannois. Following them were the eight men, and judging by the fact that they were sharing a table, Robin deduced that they were Chrom's councillors.

The spectacled elder who had blessed the torch uttered a disapproving tsk-tsk at Eschmann as he shuffled to Chrom's side again. Before everyone was to be seated, servants emerged from a screened passage parading a rainbow of dishes. The main table was served first, and Robin's mouth watered uncontrollably.

"Let us say grace," the elder pronounced, closing his eyes and raising his upturned palms.

"_Heavenly Mother, Sun of Our Skies, Light of Our Lives. We bid You watch over us and allow us the brilliance of Your Presence. It is with Your Grace that You have made the earth fruitful and kept our people hearty and hale. We honour this meal –_"

Robin's stomach chose that moment to groan horribly. Basilio laughed, Lissa giggled and the priest raised pleading eyes to the ceiling.

"—_And plead that the future holds as much bounty as our present_."

The guests murmured their assent throughout the hall and the disgruntled man walked silently to his chair.

Four lads bearing trays to the head table followed an old woman with incongruously muscular arms. The pantler offered up the bread and another a handsome set of carving tools. The Master of Ceremonies presented the table with a heavy silver saltcellar, and Chrom broke the bread and dipped several pieces into the salt. The Master tasted one and, having deemed it safe, distributed the rest among the seated.

Robin discreetly licked a bit of drool away from her lips.

Another young man brought a tray of silver goblets, Chrom and Lissa's being chased gold and glass. The last of the party bore a ewer and the Master dropped a bezoar into the container. Satisfied, he passed it to Chrom and the wine was poured into the cups.

Robin wanted nothing more than to snatch the pitcher up and chug it all down.

Finally, Chrom used the carving set to slice several cuts of bear – Robin had seen it being carried on a sturdy oak stretcher, and it looked and smelled delicious, dripping with a rich brown sauce and lined with baked onions and apples. These too were divided between the diner's plates, and as they were placed before them, Robin plunked into her chair and tore into the meat with relish, savouring her first true meal in weeks, _dear gods this is amazing –! _

She was painfully aware of the overwhelming silence around her. Looking up, with gravy smearing her lips and fingers, the rest of the present company stared at her. They hadn't even sat down yet. The Master and the priest looked completely horrified; the Rosannois and some of the councillors disgusted, and Basilio was grinning like a madman.

"Forgive me. I couldn't control myself," she started to ramble, scrambling for whatever excuse she could pass off as even remotely appropriate. "The sight and scent alone were enough to make me forget whatever manners I have."

"Now _there's_ something you don't hear every day in your career!" the elderly woman revealed a gap-toothed smile and clasped her hands delightedly: she must have been the head cook. "If only I could hear that kind of praise from you whelps," she cuffed Chrom's shoulder playfully, "and the rest of you ungrateful louts," her cackling could be heard all the way into the kitchen passage as she left, and the overwhelmed Master tried to offer an apologetic shrug before he hurried after her.

_She must be quite special and talented if she's allowed to speak to her superiors like that_, Robin mused as the rest took their places and began to eat. _But one more slip-up like that and you can be sure that their forgiveness and your dumb luck will run out quick, you stupid girl._

"Oi, cheer up old man," Basilio reached over the Rosannois and shook the elder forcefully. "It's not the end of the world. Besides, if the food really is poisoned, then at least you know the Plegian didn't do it!"

There was weak laughter all around, and the older man looked a bit queasy himself. At the very least Chrom and Lissa still offered reassurances.

As the princess sniggered faintly and told Robin no, the tablecloth is most certainly not for wiping your hands on, that's what the napkins are for, her tone turned for the serious and she leaned in confidentially.

"You didn't bring any servants, you don't have any clothes, you're eating like a starving person…what happened?" Robin felt a prick of annoyance for having her personal affairs being butted into, but Lissa's pout and the reminder that she had been kind to her and, well, _deserved_ _to know_, tamped it down.

"It's…a bit of a long story. To keep it short, we were basically shipwrecked."

"Shipwrecked?!"

"Yes, that's the gist of it. Yeah."

"You poor thing!"

Again, the irritation. But Lissa's sad eyes looked sincere, and she was surprised to have her holding her hand in sudden sympathy. Chrom said nothing but a supportive nod was enough.

As Lissa prattled on about how well they would take care of her and how she wouldn't want for nothing during her stay, she occasionally interrupted herself, along with her brother, to point out useful tidbits on table etiquette.

She took the rest of the time to learn about the eating habits of the nobility as well as the rest of the guests sharing the table. In Plegia as well as Chon'sin the whole meal was served all at once, but here it was organised into courses. Apparently the planning had deviated from presenting types of food in a certain order to displaying national foods from guest nations, with subtleties of marchpane and spun sugar representing their seats of power for each course.

Ylisse was shown through hearty soups, the delicious bear and sweet winter preserves paired with cheeses and bread. Robin was enchanted by the spelled sugar pegasi flying around the towers and walls of Ylisstol castle. Regna Ferox had a wide variety of sharply flavoured pickles, smoked ox, and candy soldiers that battled around the Khan's Palace.

As she sampled her way through Rosanne and the Valmese Empire she quietly observed her companions and was careful to reply politely whenever prompted, but not in a way that would suggest spinelessness.

The priest who had led them in prayer was Anton Kospa of House Ænselm, second only to Chrom in terms of control over the church as head of their religion. While she perceived dislike from him during the beginning of the meal, he was appropriately deferential and even shy when they spoke. He seemed all right so far, but it would do to keep an eye on him.

Eschmann she had already met. It was clear from the get-go that he was incurably eccentric and over-excitable, and while she didn't appreciate his initial grabbiness she had a gut feeling that he was at least somewhat trustworthy. His house, Stoecklin, had risen from hard times after the death of the previous Minister of Finance; he had been promoted after his son's marriage to Lissa, he explained, and he waved enthusiastically to him a table over while the lad hid his face with a hand.

"Forgive me for my impertinence, your Highness, but I believe I speak for most when I respectfully request a change in music. Perhaps something livelier for our guests?" Tobias Falstaff spoke smoothly, and his well trimmed goatee and sharp red eyes painted a very handsome and cultivated image.

But there was a hard edge to his demeanour when Robin had faced him, and he never spoke to her unless directly addressed. She knew that not only was he certainly among the more prejudiced members of Chrom's court, but that he would be impossible to sway and would challenge her every step of the way. The question was whether it was more efficient to simply counter him or to also try to find which councillors could be played against him.

"Yeah Chrom! We've had nothing but these slow and sappy ballads. Even the tumblers look bored!" Lissa accidentally sprayed crumbs onto her trencher.

Chrom, previously in happy conversation and sporting a rather far off look in his eyes, seemed affronted by the very suggestion. "If you say so…"

He motioned to one of the servants stationed behind his chair. Instructing her quietly, the maid bowed and left, returning shortly with a green-haired man in tow.

"Lewyn, it seems that a change has been requested. You do still have the lists I've compiled?"

"I do milord. Which scores shall we be playing from?" the bard seemed highly amused by the exchange.

"The, uh, happier ones."

Lewyn bowed. "At once, milord."

Soon after, breathy notes began floating from the minstrel's gallery, reverberating throughout the hall.

_I'll swim and sail on savage seas_

_With ne'er a fear of drowning_

_And gladly ride the waves of life_

_If you would marry me_…

Lissa groaned and some of the councillors grimaced uncomfortably. "Ugh. I take it back. I'd rather listen to all of those ballads back to back if it means not hearing this song ever again!"

Chrom's face had taken on a lost, dreamy quality, eyes glazing over as a curiously soft smile played about his lips. "Oh, hush," he replied dazedly.

The rest of the meal progressed somewhat uneventfully, and Robin wondered why Chrom's inattention seemed to worsen with each passing song. They soon reached the end of the banquet, with Plegia being the last course. She could tell that few had any idea what her national cuisine was like, but was mollified by the fact that they at least tried; she nibbled on what looked like an attempt at lamb kebabs as she watched jackals and wyverns chase each other over the subtlety of her capital's walled city.

Chrom was snapped out of his stupor as the table was voided and he stood to give a toast. Several had been stated before, with many a courtier hilariously sloshed by then, but the prince had refrained until now so that it would be more meaningful.

"We thank you all for attending this feast—" he began, and was interrupted by a few raucous "hear hears!"

"—And we hope it surpassed your highest expectations. This is but the beginning of many happy nights together, and we hope that those future nights are also filled with more merrymaking and joy to come," he raised his goblet high. "To peace!"

The hall exploded into a cacophony of shouting, many variations of "to Ylisse!" and Chrom or Emmeryn. Said prince managed a tight smile: Robin noticed how he, in his nervousness, had cracked his glass, his dark sleeves hiding the rivulets of wine that dripped down his wrist and onto his golden trencher.

As he wiped himself hurriedly, the hall was cleared and the guests moved into a set of large drawing rooms to dance, gossip, gamble or any combination of the three. Attendants wove between the guests to offer mead, more wine, and cookies. Robin was sad when the spicy-sweet taste of Plegian grapes danced about her tongue as she accepted another glass.

_Gods' wounds! Drunkenness is the fastest way to a loose tongue, you silly girl! Get a grip. _

She felt a bit awkward standing around with the councillors and other ambassadors, but it seemed as though they were to remain together for this part of the night as well.

Chrom wasn't helping matters by constantly looking throughout the room and being distracted in the conversation.

"If I may, I would like to have the pleasure of sharing this," Ghislain du Berry, the man representing Rosanne, sniffed primly as one of his footmen retrieved an expensive looking bottle for him.

Basilio perked up instantly. "Oh, is that a '39? Great year for the grapes."

"Indeed it was," the noble smoothed his cravat as tall goblets were poured for them.

Robin snuffled uncertainly at the rim, uncomfortable with being plied with more alcohol when all she wanted to do was sleep. "I'm sorry…I'm not familiar with this."

"It's champagne," Pheros, the Valmese envoy, explained gently.

"Oh," Robin said.

She took a small sip of the pale beverage and frowned slightly.

"Yes?" du Berry pressed, somewhat anxious that she looked like only one who wasn't enjoying it.

"It's quite delicious," she muttered. "But…"

"But what?"

"It's too…bubbly."

Basilio and a flame haired councillor burst into drunken guffaws, while du Berry spluttered indignantly. All Robin could manage was a tired shrug before, thankfully, Chrom swooped in to her rescue.

"I think he's had enough for the day," his diplomatic tone smoothed over ruffled feathers as he handed her glass to Basilio. "And he's had a trying past weeks. It would be for the best if he heads back to his quarters."

"I'm not a child," Robin grumbled under her breath. She didn't protest, however, and was clearheaded enough to manage appropriate _thank yous_ and _good evenings_ to the present company before she shuffled off to her rooms.

She was almost halfway there when, to her surprise, Chrom was jogging to her side. He was slightly sweaty and flushed, but the shine to his eyes showed that he wasn't as absentminded as before, at least.

"That went well," he started, waving congenially to the men and women assigned to care for the night's torches.

She grunted noncommittally in reply and they fell into a companionable silence as they walked.

"It was enjoyable," she finally remarked, as they reached the blue door and the guards assigned to her knocked to let the servants know of her arrival. "I'm sorry I had to cut it short."

"No need for that," he gestured airily, as her ladies drew her another bath and prepared the warming pans. His gaze searched her own, slight concern betraying him. For a moment, it looked as though he wanted to add something, but he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head and settled instead for holding her hands.

"We owe a lot to your presence," his voice had gone suddenly low, "and it means a great deal to us to have you here."

"I'm surprised you'd have me at all," her reply was equally hushed, and she wondered why they were speaking as though they were exchanging secrets. It was a nice feeling though, to share a semblance of confidentiality. "I hope that me being here will at least fix some things…and mean something better for us."

"For us," the prince echoed, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. Robin didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else, but the warmth that suffused her at the sight was pleasant and soft. At that moment, his trustworthiness had completely solidified into something tangible and strong.

He suddenly looked a bit self-conscious and drew back. Robin was a little disappointed, but kept to herself as the prince patted her clumsily.

"I do hope you get a good night's rest. We rise before dawn, and the day will be long."

"I'll keep that in mind," her legs shifted tiredly. "I hope you'll sleep well too."

He rubbed the back of his head stiffly, and they remained standing in the doorframe for a while until Chrom bid her goodbye and left. Her guards were entertained by the whole exchange, but she paid them little mind as she watched Chrom's figure disappear into the hallway.

She wanted to protest against another bath on the basis of using up too much water, but the wonderful heat loosened her aching muscles and let her relax enough to mull over the day's events. She wrapped her chest in several thin washcloths under the provided nightgown, and realised she had taken quite a while when she returned to see her attendants already asleep on their cots.

_That's good. It gives me enough time to write. _

Robin pulled out fresh sheets of parchment from the desk and carefully lit a small candle; even though the hearth was burning too much darkness was cast over her little nook. She wet her quill with a satisfactory amount of ink and began to scratch away:

_Aversa_

_You must be worried sick by now, but I hope it pleases you to know that we've made it safely to Ylisse. The bad news is that by "we" I mean our sea captain and myself – Robin. _

_We lost part of the crew by Ylisse's southern coast, Daraen included. I beg to the gods in the hopes that he is still alive, but I'm not deluding myself into thinking that he had much of a chance. I'll request HRH Prince Chrom into allowing a search party in the hopes that perhaps he did… I'll be sending Gregor, the captain, to oversee it. He should make good time to the border. Send whomever else you see fit to him. _

_I need my clothes, my books, and my tools – see that enough of Daraen's things are mixed in to throw off suspicion. A foreign court may excuse the custom of loose clothing, but never using fitted trousers here is sure to raise questions. Have the caravan start moving, and explain to them that under no circumstance are they to discuss this development at any stop or even once they arrive. Any question is to be directed to me or amongst them. _

She rubbed her eyes and watched the candle gutter with her exhale.

_More to come soon enough. Please write back quickly. _

_Robin. _

Pinching a glob of bright green wax, she melted it with the candle and used the stamp the castle provided, as well as her ring, to seal it in an envelope. She then conjured a small red spark on her fingertip and set it ablaze, knowing that the spell would see it safely in Aversa's hands. The sorceress had refused to teach her the rest of the incantation, stressing that it was to be used only as a private line between them.

Robin knew part of the reason was borne from her irritating sense of pride in casting, and she could think of many situations that could have been avoided had she known the entirety of the spell too. Nonetheless, Aversa would reply soon enough, and having a secret and impenetrable form of contact was merely an added layer of insurance.

As she settled into the warm mattress, her thoughts drifted back to Chrom, Lissa and the banquet. The food and drink rested pleasantly in her belly, and the pair had left an impression of friendliness and warmth. She could trust them.

But then the whispers, the pointing, Falstaff, her very circumstances, soured her thoughts. The insidious voice inside her head murmured about assassins and threats around every corner.

_Never Chrom and Lissa_, she protested. _Not them. They were honest. They were kind. _

_Oh, but you can get attached_, it hissed back. _You will get attached and you won't be able to protect them from others who would use them against you. You can pretend that you can make friends, but they will betray you and scorn you like any other_.

_They can still hurt you. _

Her mind now swimming in paranoia, she went to sleep feeling very lonely, uncertain and sorry for herself.

Robin missed Daraen terribly.

* * *

Elsewhere in the castle, another young maiden was in distress as well.

Her reasons were, however, a cause of annoyance for the Lady Margaret.

"I swear, I left them right there!" Luella bawled, ignoring her colleagues' attempts to soothe her. "I counted, and I checked that there were exactly three more in the box!"

"Dear, no one will mind if a few bandages are missing," the matron growled, her patience having run out a while ago. She wanted to go to sleep, but of course, there was a problem to be found and Luella in tears for it. "We can always replace them."

"B-b-but we were supposed to ration them but I'm stupid and useless and I can't do anything right and they're not there! A-a-and it's all m-my faauuuulllltttt!" the girl wailed. The few patients that were sleeping in the dormitory began to wake with howls of complaint, and little Thomas, who had been put to bed several hours ago, toddled in with his very cross-looking mother crying about the noise.

Margaret sighed harshly through her nose, her eye rolling hard. The nurse nearest to her recognised the look and fetched her a hot tot of whiskey.

"Two weeks on the job," she grumbled, downing the alcohol in one go.

* * *

I think that my guilt for not having this ready sooner compelled me to write these 27 pages - but I guess that's my lot when it comes to art school! I hope that this makes up for a year's time.

Additionally, I've been trying to gather a lot of information to sort of keep this in the idea that this is the world of _Awakening_ in a Shakespearian setting - books like Christopher Hibberts' _The English: a Social History_, DK Travel's _Great Britain and Northern Ireland_, as well as The Tudors wiki (particularly the costume section) and my Signet Classics copy of _Twelfth Night_ itself have been a great help. The _Awakening_ wiki was indispensable as ever, as was Wikipedia for providing me information on medieval and renaissance architecture. The entrance hall of Ylisstol Castle is basically a huge ripoff of St. George's Chapel hall in Windsor Castle, and most of my architectural references are from castles Bolsover, Bamburgh and Edinburgh. If you have the opportunity to visit them any time soon I strongly suggest you do because castles are awesome and so is history.

If anyone wants to discuss more about this fic or history in general, my inbox is always open, as is my blog. Feel free to talk about what you liked, loved, disliked, or hated! Reviews are highly appreciated and I thank everyone who took the time to read this, especially after having waited for a year.

Lastly, because I love the little bits of trivia and questions that some writers add to their fics too, I think it'd be nice to include some at the ends and introductions of later chapters.

This chapter's question is: what kind of window is Chrom talking about, and why do you think I named it like that?


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